Mark of the Fool

Chapter 877: The Ravener's Fuel

“Wh-what’s happening?” a soldier cried.

All across the city of Ussex, magical energy rose from the defenders of Thameland like steam escaping a boiling pot: the enchantment of Army of Heroes now dissipating.

As the city burned, warriors looked around in confusion, as though suddenly waking from a dream.

The magic in their bodies faded, muscles no longer gripped their weapons unflinchingly.

And—as their eyes fell on the monsters they’d just been slaying—the beginnings of fear returned to their hearts.

“Fight on!” the king commanded, raising Uldar’s sword. “We have them on the run! Fight on!”

The soldiers of Thameland and Alex’s mercenaries looked at each other, steeled their nerves and stepped forward to keep fighting the enemy. Most of the Ravener-spawn had already been driven from the capital.

All the fighters had to do now, was—

“Something’s coming!” a knight cried from atop the city wall. “An enormous monster! It’s all eyes and mouths…and has four burning wings! It's not alone, there’s more of them! Uldar help us!”

A new monster?

If they could—

“More Ravener-spawn!” another soldier rose from one of the city’s watchtowers. “A sea of them are coming from the north!”

“Ravener-spawn from the east!” came another cry. “They have dungeon cores!”

Fear grew in the soldiers’ eyes.

And the Ravener-spawn remaining in the city struck. They attacked the Thameish warriors with abandon, crushing bone and flesh like grapes.

Dying screams soon filled the air.

“Fight on!” the king commanded. “Give them everything we have! Send them to their deaths! We must hold out! We must hold out! Aaaaargh!”

Surrounded by his personal guard, the king charged the nearest knot of Ravener-spawn. Fear plagued him. He feared for his kingdom. He feared for his people. He feared for his life.

He knew fear would do nothing but feed their enemies.

But, all he could do was fight through it.

Fight through it and trust they could hold on long enough for something to change.

‘Traveller,’ he thought. ‘If you can hear me…I know you can hear me. Please. Help us. This is our darkest hour.’

Setting his jaw, he drove his sword through a gibbering legion’s flesh.

All around him, the blood of mortals mixed with the blood of monsters.

“Kyembe, behind you!” Ezerak shouted.

The Spirit Killer—his sword wrapped in white flame—spun around, driving the burning blade through a Spawn Knight’s head. His crimson eyes squinted as the insides of the creature boiled white-hot, exploding in a fountain of sizzling innards.

“Gratitude, Ezerak!” Kyembe kicked away another monster trying to climb the rooftop they were fighting on. “Shame that the spell has left us, but now we can show our own power!”

“Die, die, you rot-headed, babbling filth-licker!” Wurhi of Zabyalla repeatedly stabbed a chitterer, desperate to stay alive. “Kyembe, you madman! This is the worst job ever! We’re going to die!”

Kyembe let out a deep, rich laugh. “You were so brave a moment ago!”

“Because of that crazy wizard’s crazy spell!” she shrieked. “It was making me as mad as you are! But, there’s no more spell now, and I know we’re going to die!”

“Then we will die as legends!” the Spirit Killer split another Ravener-spawn.

“I’m not dying,” Ezerak muttered.

The fallen king ordered his army of tattoo monsters to leave his skin and attack the swarm of spawn scaling the building he, Kyembe, Wurhi and a number of other mercenaries had climbed.

But his army was shrinking…and he’d caught sight of the endless tide of beasts coming toward the city.

An entire line of titans—at least a dozen—were charging in, ready to melt their hopes in an ocean of acid.

“Let all deities witness us,” Ezerak whispered. “And let me not witness another kingdom fall on this day.”

“Pray,” Tobias Jay commanded, prostrating himself in front of an altar. “Pray with everything you have.”

Behind him, nearly a hundred priests had gathered, all prostrate on the floor of Uldar’s cathedral in Ussex, facing the grand altar. Rising above the altar was the statue of Uldar, looking down at the priests with stony eyes.

The very thought of his priests still worshipping that treacherous god’s image turned Tobias’ stomach…but he could do nothing about that now.

Right now, he needed their faith at its strongest.

…so he could guide it in the right direction.

“Give your faith and prayers to the Traveller, my children,” the high priest’s deep voice reverberated through the cathedral. “Let your prayers reach her. She has a plan for us all, and she needs our strength. Uldar needs our faith less than she does. Let your focus be on her, for that is the divine plan.”

“Yes, high priest,” Tobias’ followers echoed one another.

He closed his eyes.

‘I did not lie,’ he thought. ‘I only left out parts of the truth to help us all. May you forgive me.’

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He continued praying to the altar in Uldar’s cathedral…

…or rather, to the object upon the altar:

A simple lantern, symbolising the Traveller.

Within it burned a small flickering flame.

A tiny flame representing all of Tobias’ hopes.

“Their number seems endless now! They just keep coming!” a priest outside the Cave of the Traveller shouted. “The General’s summoned monsters were mostly destroyed after the magic died!”

“We must hold on!” their commander shouted. “We cannot let the Cave fall and be overrun! We. Must. Hold.”

At the fortification’s walls, the pair of towering iron golems fired their weapons into the Coille, destroying everything standing before them. They were holding…for now, but the tide of Ravener-spawn was swelling by the heartbeat.

They'd be overwhelmed, and soon.

“Daybreak, Peter.” Paul squinted at the sunrise through smoke rising around Alric. “We made it to daybreak.”

“Aye, but is this going to be our last?” Peter wondered, his back pressed against the parapet. Bags were heavy under the guard’s eyes. He was drenched in sweat. His crossbow lay loose between his hands. “The Roth boy’s spell’s finished now and people are scared again. I suppose that means the Ravener’s still around.”

“Aye.” Paul winced as a golem fired its cannon into the hordes of spawn. “But at least we got to see the sun, and by the Traveller’s grace, we’ll see many more. Oh…you’d best get up. Another army of monsters is coming…this one looks a lot bigger than the last ones.”

Peter groaned. “Then back into the fight it is. Let’s keep living, Paul. I swear if I die right before the Ravener’s beaten, I’m gonna be in a steamin’ mood when I get to the after-world.”

“Send them to the after-world!” Gemini commanded. “I don’t want them anywhere near this Castle!”

“We’re out of chaos bombs!” one of the ballista teams informed her.

“So are we!” another team cried.

“The same for us!”

“We’re also out!”

“Down to the last three!”

“Two more here!”

Professor Jules winced.

The ballista teams looked exhausted, some were yawning, their movements sluggish. They’d been fighting all night long, determined to hold off the Ravener-spawn, launching chaos bombs that devastated the moors around the Research Castle. Much of the landscape was now dust and flattened rock, a lot of the flora was destroyed. Everything looked dead…except for—

“Ravener-spawn! Ravener-spawn coming from all sides!” Watchers flying above the battlefield warned. “New ones! And more titans than we’ve seen before!”

“We don’t have the chaos bombs to stop them,” Watcher Hill muttered.

“Then we’ll need to move on to the next phase.” Gemini rubbed her eyepatch, before looking at Professor Jules. “Your orders?”

The alchemy professor stared at the coming tide of Ravener-spawn.

Enough to stretch across the horizon.

Enough to overwhelm the defences of the strongest of fortresses.

Enough to devastate entire civilizations.

The earth trembled at their foot-falls.

Professor Jules’ attention turned to the summoning circle in the courtyard below.

It was nearly time.

“Use the remaining chaos bombs!” Professor Jules shouted. “Then leave the walls! Your duties are complete!” She turned to her graduate students, who’d been busy loading chaos bombs all night. “I want you students to return to Generasi through the portal.”

Their reactions were mixed.

Some looked relieved.

Many others bristled.

“Professor!” one cried. “I can’t leave, there’s still—”

“You’re all exhausted: and you’re alchemy students, not warriors,” her voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t argue with me. You’ve done a hero’s part in this battle up to now. I want you all back where you can rest in safety. Go. Now! I swear if any of you refuse to listen to me, I’ll sign your expulsion papers myself. Go!”

The graduate students looked at her then at each other, but could say nothing.

Those that still had chaos bombs turned back to their teams. The others began leaving the Castle’s walls, making their way through the courtyard and to the teleportation circle in the Research Castle.

Over the next little while, the remaining teams launched the last of the chaos bombs. They exploded in a cloud where they struck, lighting up the early morning horizon, obliterating spawn like dying embers. Though some of Professor Jules’ students grumbled, they then left, quietly making their way to the teleportation circle, their work finished.

Jules sighed with relief, her graduate students would be safe, she hoped the same would be true for the younger students, like Mr. Roth and the others. She squinted at the oncoming sea of Ravener-spawn, then floated down to the courtyard and the summoning circle that Baelin had put the finishing touches to.

“Everyone stay back!” she called out. “It’s time, and this summoning will still be difficult.”

She raised her hands, the words of an ancient incantation pouring from her lips.

The summoning circle began glowing with power, and chaos-tinged magic seeped through the air. Tremors shook the cobblestones beneath Jules’ feet. Reality rippled like lake water from a smooth stone skipping across it. Her skin tingled, and mana poured from her pool as she spoke the words of the ancient ritual. Words of power, spoken with precise efficiency. Clear words. Sharp phrases. Guttural sounds. Awful to say.

A terrible note of longing saturated them.

A calling.

The air shifted.

Spell arrays formed.

Magic circuitry came to life.

In the growing light of dawn, a crackling sound and awful words slipped through the air.

Something unseen entered the circle.

The professor couldn’t see it, nor could she smell it. She could not hear it, though a long forgotten part of her brain—the part that knew well why mortals feared the dark—sensed it.

The air began to shimmer.

A massive presence permeated the space: a mind so vast, and so old, that Jules’ own mind felt miniscule in comparison, like a mayfly’s.

It was a mind that—if not for Baelin’s participation in the ritual—she could not have hoped to control; a mind capable of the sort of alien wonders and cruelties that would snap a mortal’s mind in two if they tried to comprehend it.

But, it was a mind she intended to direct toward their enemies.

Once, long ago, when Mr. Roth was in his first year at Generasi, she’d summoned a lesser shoggoth with her graduate students while he watched. Back then, the experience had seemingly caused the young wizard some upset. She wondered how he would have reacted had she summoned this monstrosity then.

This was no lesser shoggoth.

This was a greater shoggoth, as far above their lesser kin as the sky was above the bowels of the earth.

And the ritual—even with Baelin’s mighty influence—barely contained it.

Professor Jules clenched her teeth. “Go,” she commanded. ‘Destroy our attackers. Eat them, savour them, do as you wish with them. Everything you take from them is yours.’

It spoke to her—a voice in her mind that scraped at her very sanity: but its reply was in the affirmative.

The terrible mind departed the summoning circle, shooting up and through the clouds.

Hovering there, it manifested fully in the material world.

Above the clouds, the shoggoth shifted between every colour that mortals had ever put name to—and in shades that no mortal language could describe—cramming the sky with its excessive bulk.

Morning light instantly plunged into deep shadow as the greater shoggoth reached out with tentacles as thick around as massive sea serpents, stretching out over the miles.

Those tentacles crushed any Ravener-spawn approaching the Castle, the very touch of them reducing monstrous flesh into primordial ooze.

But…they would not be enough to completely end the attack.

The greater shoggoth was—on its own—an unstoppable force, but even its dozens of elongated, clawed tentacles could not touch every Ravener-spawn charging toward the Castle.

Thousands, tens of thousands of rushing monsters.

“It will buy us time,” Professor Jules said. “And hopefully, the rest of Thameland can hold out.”

“Leave the rest of Thameland to us,” a familiar voice said.

Professor Jules looked up at the keep’s gates.

There was Councillor Kartika, having teleported into the courtyard with a group of wizards. Seconds later, hundreds of Generasi mage-soldiers began appearing in the courtyard too, all armed and ready for war.

“We’re here to relieve you,” Kartika said. “And to fulfil our alliance with Thameland. We would have been here hours ago but…bureaucracy.”

“Indeed, and whiletheyare aiding Thameish mortals, I will ensure that the university’s property is not overrun.” Another familiar voice said.

Professor Jules jumped, spinning around, finding another familiar face watching her.

Registrar Hobb wiped his monocle. “Apologies for the lateness. There were affairs that had to be settled before I could leave, but I am here now, quite ready to help you hold the line, as it were.” He raised an eyebrow. “And not a moment too soon it seems.”

“What do you mean?” Professor Jules asked, frowning.

“Your enemy’s mana is expanding, it’s getting thicker in the air. Much thicker,” Hobb said. “It won’t be long before it gives free rein to its true strength.”

“It hasn’t, yet?” Professor Jules paled.

“No, I am afraid not, but I do believe it is about to.”

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